For My Love
by butterflygoodbye
Summary: A retelling of the Tristan and Isolde story with a twist.
1. Chapter 1

A retelling of the Tristan and Isolde story. It's not a tragedy just a romantic adventure that will be dramatic at some point.

Disclaimer: I do not own Tristan and Isolde the movie or the legend.

AN: Thanks to my beta Han for all her hardwork. She puts up with all my tense mistakes and doesn't mind helping me at any time. Thanks sweetie!

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Princess Isolde, daughter of King Donnchadh of Ireland and Queen Isolde the Elder, had grown up without her mother by her side. From birth she had been raised by her faithful maid, Bragnae. Being the first and only child of her father did not give her the right to his love, if she had been a son she would have been revered and accepted inexplicably, but since she was just a lowly daughter she didn't give much meaning to her father's life. He had his duty to keep her pure and to provide for her a dowry so that one day he could make the best match for her, but in reality he hadn't loved her mother either so Isolde couldn't expect much from him.

It was her duty as a obedient daughter to do as every other woman in her time had done; be a good daughter, wife, and mother. Isolde did everything in her power to please her father, no matter the amount of indifference he showed her.

She politely sat at his side every morning while he broke his fast, her hands properly placed in her lap and her back erect. She listened intently, and sometimes in disgust to the conversations that he would have with his menservants and aides, trying to gain any information she could on the ways of politics. She was forbidden to read anything that may help her to become smarter than any "woman" should be. All the while she pretended to be servile, on the inside she was bursting with a love for knowledge and her ideas of freedom.

Every afternoon she sat in the lady's quarters, her faithful maid by her side, as she carded wool with the other lords's wives and daughters. Carding the wool was necessary to the process of cloth making so that the women could then spin it in to yarn. Every spring season the women would receive the wool shorn from the village sheep so that they could make acceptable winter clothing for all the servants of the house and serfs of the fields. Her father might not care for the serfs but he would not have them dying throughout the winter because they weren't clothed well. A dead serf was just as worthless as a live one, but at least a living one would continue to work and bring money into his coffers.

Whenever she wasn't occupied with her other household duties, Isolde would travel out into the surrounding countryside to collect herbs and berries for household and medicinal purposes. This special time in Isolde's day would probably be tiresome for the other girls, many would rather have their servants do it while they stayed inside the keep but Isolde loved the outdoors. The freshness of the air always helped to make her feel better. The rushes strewn on the floor in the front hall and in her bedroom were scented with dried lavender, but that wasn't the same as holding the fresh sprig to your nose after you had just picked it. If Isolde could survive the winter outside she would. Then she wouldn't feel confined. Like a prisoner in her own home.

She always felt closer to her mother, who had also dealt in herbs, when she was outside with the sun warming her cheeks while the cool spring breeze whipped her hair, flowing behind her like a banner into battle.

If Isolde's mother was the sun then her father was the wind, harsh and unfeeling, bringing damage with it's stormy bluster. But the sun always shone brightly, only the clouds sometimes got in the way, blown by the wind to keep the affectionate sunshine from reaching her. The clouds made Isolde think about the things in life that kept her down; sickness, starvation and the wars that were bountiful.

She hated living in Ireland when there was talk about battles and raids fought against the weaker Briton tribes. She thought it was a better idea to think about peace and prosperity instead of which kingdom could do the most damage against the other. But this was man's battle-torn world so she kept her rebellious thoughts to herself. Her father would not approve of these thoughts, she would be severely punished if she ever were to think of speaking such treasonous things.

Isolde wasn't naive enough to think that she may someday be given to a man that did not uphold her father's ideals about women being seen and not heard. She could still dream though, couldn't she? Her future husband might care about her enough to value her opinion. At least when she was married she would have her dreams to keep her sane as she went about her wifely duties. Hopefully, in her new home she wouldn't feel as trapped as she did in Ireland. Then she wouldn't worry about becoming depressed like her mother had been before she died.

Bragnae had thought her old enough on her last birthday to tell her the real truth about her mother's last days on this earth. Isolde's mother had suffered from depression before she conceived but upon giving birth to a daughter she had felt a failure for not giving her husband and king a heir to carry on the line. Isolde's birth had been her mother's breaking point. Although Isolde mourned for her mother, now knowing what she went through, she did not hold any hate in her heart for her mother even though she had given up on living and had not survived to raise her child.

Isolde hoped that she had more of her father's obstinacy and stubbornness, praying that she wouldn't give up on life so easily if her future marriage and motherhood didn't end up being all that she hoped it would be.

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According to her father, Isolde's betrothed was a great warrior who had killed many men in his day. He was well known for his prowess in battle and was as well known in her native Ireland as he was in his homeland of Cornwall. Her betrothed was not a man of Irish descent, but a Briton. Surprisingly, her father thought he was worthy of her hand and she was worthy enough to bear this warrior's children. Apparently her Irish blood was thicker than that of the weaker Briton blood. Her father apparently had no fear of his descendants being weaklings. Her hope was for Ireland's throne because her son would one day rule the kingdom, and he had to be strong in heart as well as in body to accomplish the task.

Tomorrow would bring the tournament that Isolde's betrothed would fight in to prove his worth. He didn't even know her name or what she looked like. But it didn't matter, she hardly knew if she was pleasing to the eye herself; her father did not allow her the pleasure of a mirror of beaten silver to look into, claiming it would just make her vain. She would give in to her feminine insipidness so well known among her peers. She would be veiled so her betrothed would not know her before their engagement week, when she was to travel to his country in the hands of her betrothed's men.

Funny how she didn't even know his name, yet she was anxious to meet and study the man who would become her husband. She just hoped he was not as old as she believed him to be. A man of her father's age or older would not be so appealing or as intriguing as one closer to her age. Isolde didn't want her marital bed to be seen as a duty to beget children as it had been for her mother. She believed she deserved some happiness in life that was not dictated by her father. He couldn't be in the room to tell her what to do. Isolde wanted to feel something and not just become a cold fish that would send her husband to the first comely woman he set his eyes on. A woman who would give him what he wanted for a meager price with no attachments.

She knew she should feel ashamed for wanting to know about the act of making love, but in truth she did not feel guilty for thinking on it. It was a natural part of life and she would soon know it for what it was, a joining of man and wife.

Isolde retired earlier than usual the night before the tournament. As Bragnae said, _No bride to be should be likened to a hag on the first sighting by her future husband. How would that make her father and the kingdom look? Irish brides are always as fair as the morning sunrise and just as dewy._


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Sorry it has taken so long to get this next chapter up. My computer crashed and the document was lost but now I'm back and I hope you enjoy this second chapter.  
Thanks to my beta Han for putting up with me no matter what. All of my stories I owe to you. You always let me bounce ideas off of you and you don't care how many times I send my drafts back to you. Love ya sweetie!

Disclaimer: I don't own Tristan + Isolde; the legend or the movie rights.

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Tristan, son of Lord Aragon and Lady Serafine, had grown up in his father's house. It was situated in a small town called Exeter, _Isca Dumnoniorum_ in the Latin tongue. Their village overlooked a river where the locals would fish to make their living. Ruins of a Roman wall lay close to the their home and Tristan would climb them everyday, watching for riders on the road. One day, when Tristan was nine years old, Lord Marke of Cornwall and his wife Lady Barbara had come to their small village manor to urge Tristan's father to join his cause; to bring the separated tribes of Briton together against King Donnchadh of Ireland and the leader of his army, Morholt. Thinking they were safe from the Irish that cold, rainy night they held a secret meeting in the great hall with all the leaders sitting round the tables enjoying their mead and the crackling of the fire. Their wives sat on the other side of the hall around the warmth of the second hearth as they gossiped and congratulated Lady Marke on the news of her newborn baby son. He had been left at home in Cornwall. The cold weather wasn't appropriate to bring him out in, he might catch cold and they couldn't have Marke's new heir dying before he ever had a chance to live.

Tristan had been listening intently to his father and the other men as they argued about whether or not joining Lord Marke was a good idea. Tristan's father, Lord Aragon, thought joining together would make Briton stronger but Tristan figured maybe some of the other leaders just weren't as wise as him. One, Lord Wictred especially grated on his nerves but Tristan always treated him politely seeing as that was how his mother had taught him.

Just as everyone had started to quiet down and the parchment for the pact had been brought out, cries of alarm rose from the sentries on duty could be heard. Loud gasps could be heard as the women looked to their husbands for instructions and reassurance. Being only nine years old Tristan was thrust into hiding with his mother, along with the other women and children, despite his protestation that he could fight too. Feeling helpless he grabbed his mother's hand as he tried to comfort her through her tears.

A loud crash could be heard through the trap door in the floor where they all hid. Crouching down on the dirt floor Tristan held his mother as yells of outrage and screams of pain could be heard mingled with the sobs and whimpers of the women and children. After many tense moments the door to the cellar was thrown open and a torch was poked through the cavernous hole. A blood-covered Irishman climbed down the ladder along with two other men and grabbed up all the boys and hauled them through the trap door.

Tristan didn't like this one bit. He kicked and fought the whole way until he was deposited on the rush covered floor by one of the burly men. Forced to stand up the boys faced the men who had survived the battle. Tristan was glad to see his father and Lord Marke alive though they were not intact.

The boys were each handed a sword and were instructed to deal a killing blow to the man in front of him. Tristan, horrified at the though of killing his own father, swung his sword at his and his father's captor instead, severing the man's sword hand. Seeing the bravery of their friend, the other boys hastily attacked the rest of the Irishmen as Tristan cut loose the Britons. After he had freed them all, he handed off his sword to his stunned father and ran toward the cellar to check on the women and the younger children while the Britons fought and killed the remaining men.

From that day forward Tristan was known as a great warrior gaining accolades from all the men whose lives he had helped save. Lord Marke was so impressed with his bravery and strength that he promised Lord Aragon that he would train Tristan up as a knight, if he agreed. Although that meant leaving his home and moving to live with Lord Marke's family in Cornwall. Tristan was scared to leave the only life he had known but he knew that he could endure the hardships as long as the end reward was his knighthood.

Saying goodbye to his mother and father he left his home and traveled to Cornwall where he was trained for a full ten years alongside Marke's nephew of the same age, Melot. Spending all those years away from home helped Tristan to become a strong man. He forged many lasting relationships with the other men around him, including Lord Marke who he owed his allegiance to.

Having ended the Irish raid and what would have been the slaughter of many Briton lords at such a young age, Tristan was very famous among men and women alike but he didn't care for it. When he wasn't practicing his fighting skills or lending advice to Lord Marke, he liked to spend his time alone, but he had a little follower, Wynn, Lord Marke's third son. The ten year old followed him everywhere always pestering him to teach him to fight and offering his childish opinion on everything that Tristan did. He was forever asking Tristan when he could become his sword bearer. It embarrassed Tristan to be constantly trailed and the other knights always teased him about his shadow. Maybe that was Tristan's problem with women, his "shadow" always dissuaded them from coming around but in reality Tristan just wasn't interested in any of the local women. Plenty of women would give anything to be with Cornwall's unofficial leading warrior but none of them appealed to him.

It didn't really matter to him anyway. He wouldn't have his freedom much longer because his parents had been arranging his marriage to an Irish princess since the end of his years as a squire. At 21 he was now a knight and according to his parents, ready for marriage. Tristan knew he should put some serious thought into the significance of this major change in his life but it was very hard to think about when his future bride was so far away. Isolde the Fair, as she was known in her country, was said to be very beautiful but he was still wary of a marriage to a stranger, and an Irish one at that!

Still, there was never any interest between him and any of the young women in Cornwall. He was always too focused on perfecting his skills with the longbow, broadsword and dagger, along with his hunting and riding abilities. A knight's first and most important priority was to look after and protect any and all women, especially those of noble birth so he wouldn't dare neglect the woman that was to become his wife. He just hoped that the responsibility wouldn't be hindered by an unfortunate face or temperament. Tristan sincerely wished that his wife would be his equal and wouldn't shy away from him. Hopefully she wouldn't be too clingy and expect his attention more often that was needed. He was not going to be a servant at her beck and call. He had other duties that he had to accomplish.

Having a wife to care for would be a new experience. So far he had only had to care for himself, and a horse or two, since leaving his home and his parents all those years ago. Maybe one day he would have a son that he could take on hunting trips with him. He could congratulate him and a job well done and then carry him home on his shoulders like his father had done when he was a boy. Especially if it brought rewards like he thought it had for his father.

One way or another he would find out after he competed in the tournament which would be fought between him and the strongest of Lord Donnchadh's men. Apparently, he wasn't officially engaged to the Princess Isolde until he had bested them in a fight. Hand to hand combat would decide his and the princess's fate.

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Review if you please! I'd like to know everyone's thoughts. _How I'm doing so far? What I can improve on? Anything. :)_


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